


A Hot Spring

by talithan



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 21:15:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7861417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talithan/pseuds/talithan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damen's never been to a natural hot spring outside the palace, and Laurent wanted to show him, and sometimes things can be this simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Hot Spring

**Author's Note:**

> for the 'spring in arles' prompt on day four of captive prince week! sorry it accidentally turned into a pun

The spa is nestled into the mountains a morning's ride northwest from Arles, in a little village with a disproportionate ratio of visitors to residents. Laurent hasn't been here in nearly a decade; he remembers riding here with his family, and when he was very young, riding pillion with his mother. The spa is still happy to close its doors for the day to entertain royalty, though Laurent has assured them this is not necessary, and that they will only require the typical private bath any visitor can reserve.

Damen is large, but he can fit inside a bath just fine.

For a day and a night, they've excused themselves from their lives, ridden alone with no guard and no ceremony and no more than they could fit in their packs. Because they can. Because Damen's never been to a natural hot spring outside the palace, and Laurent wanted to show him, and sometimes things can be this simple, now. 

"This isn't spring," Damen says. There's still snow on the ground, just ahead.

"The water will be warm," Laurent says.

"And outdoors."

"I should have brought you in winter."

"Next year," Damen says easily, and Laurent returns his eyes to the road. 

It still feels as if he's cheated, somehow. As if he's kept something he's meant to have returned by now.

He can tell they're close by the smell in the air, the hint of the strong mineral smell characteristic of the hot springs in these mountains.

The trees part, and the scatter of inns and shops and bathhouses that comprises the center of the village comes into view. Many of the trees are still bare, or only beginning to bud, and the naked branches give everything a different look than Laurent remembered. They would have done well to come here in summer, when it's green, or indeed in winter when the cover of snow lends its own charms. The buildings seem naked, too, too simple, but without the intention of Akielon architecture.

"That's it, there," Laurent says, nodding towards a structure at the edge of it all, tucked away among the trees. "It's not as small as it looks, it's built up into the mountain and keeps going."

Damen follows behind on his own horse and Laurent can feel him taking it all in. The stone walls, exposed wood, empty planters. The smell, stronger here. And the people, more of them now that they've reached the village. Many watch them with recognition, even though they've forgone the usual indicators of their status. Damen, famously Akielon and famously large, himself famously blond and severe, all the more obvious as a pair. 

They can't take this off. Maybe if they went farther; maybe if they had the time to be farther.

The girl at the stables calls them by their titles, but she would have been warned they were coming. The owner has unnecessarily closed the entire men's side of the facilities. The two sides of the spa alternate between men's and women's use, and he assures them the larger side is theirs today. He bows very low to demonstrate his familiarity with Akielon customs. Damen, meeting Laurent's eyes, suppresses a grin.

And then they are alone, in the room where patrons undress, standing amidst rows of narrow closets but needing only two. 

Damen doesn't move, perhaps waiting for Laurent to begin first, so Laurent starts on his riding leathers, then bends to remove his boots. When he straightens, Damen is still looking down the row, mildly quizzical. Oh, of course. He hasn't done this before. 

"We take off our clothes here," Laurent says. "In the next room we'll wash."

"And leave them here?"

"You heard him. No one will be allowed entrance until we leave." He starts unlacing the right wrist of his jacket. "It's not as though we've brought any valuables." His left wrist. "Or is it just that you're thinking of how we'll be walking around naked from this point?" The front. "Don't get too excited; the water's opaque."

"I've never been anywhere like this that didn't have attendants," Damen says. "There aren't usually?"

"Anyone who wants that reserves a private area," Laurent says, "and brings their own servant." He hangs his jacket, folds his pants into a neat square.

Damen says, "Shouldn't I be attending you, then?"

Laurent turns to him in his shirt, looks at him from his boots up to his eyes, which are smiling. 

"I think it's you who'll need help out of that jacket," Laurent says. 

Damen doesn't extend his arm, so Laurent reaches for it. The smile fades into something more serious, something that softens Damen's mouth and eyes. He gets this way sometimes when Laurent touches him, and Laurent feels as though speaking wouldn't be right. 

He gets Damen out of his jacket, and boots, and pants, and shirt, and then Damen looks like himself. Veretian clothing may more practical for riding into the mountains in early spring, but it will never suit him, not the way his own does. Or the way nudity does, frankly, though this superficial thought is not in keeping with the worshipful way Damen is looking at him.

Laurent hangs what can be hung and folds the rest neatly to sit on the shelf alongside the riding leathers Damen removed himself. He picks up two clean washcloths from a shelf with a stack of them and turns to make for the next room, but Damen stops him with a hand on his arm.

In the second before he realizes he's still wearing his shirt, that Damen's hand is on him through his shirt, he thinks Damen is going to kiss him. Once he realizes, his face heats, which of course Damen can see. They stand like that, until Laurent raises his arms, and Damen silently pulls the shirt up and off.

"We're not having sex here," Laurent says.

Damen flushes too. "I didn't think we were."

"At the inn tonight," Laurent says. "After."

"That's nice." Damen matches his tone. "I look forward to it."

"Stop," says Laurent, but he's laughing. He kisses Damen on the mouth, then turns, and Damen follows after him.

When the door shuts it echoes off the tiles all around the empty, high-ceilinged room. The air is thick with steam, a striking change, even anticipated. The space is designed to fit at least twenty people comfortably, and the emptiness is loud, strange. Laurent picks a spot about halfway down the long, high pool and, from the dozen-odd pitchers waiting along the floor, selects one for himself and one for Damen. Damen follows his lead as he scoops water out to pour over his body, soaps himself up. 

Damen nudges Laurent to turn around and soaps his back. His touch lingers, but never for too long. This is usual for them, but not so commonplace that Damen is businesslike about it, always making it more of a caress. He rinses Laurent off, and Laurent takes the bottle of soap from him. His hands slide over Damen's shoulders, down the curves of his back, up to his neck. Damen bows his head. Laurent can feel his deep, slow breaths and slows his hands to match.

It's Damen who reaches for his pitcher and washes off the soap. Laurent's hands had stopped, he realizes. He grazes his fingers over Damen's after he puts down the pitcher, a simple, wordless touch that Damen doesn't question.

There are two indoor baths, but they walk around them to the door that leads outside. The spring air is a shock; Laurent hears Damen swear in Akielon behind him. Laurent tugs him by the hand into the closest and largest pool, full of cloudy white water, visibly steaming. 

Uneven stone steps bring the water to mid-thigh, and Laurent continues onwards until he can feel out a good ledge to sit on, immersed to the waist. Damen sits even lower, his head above the surface but everything past his shoulders obscured. 

Laurent watches him relax into the heat, appreciates the unconscious smile spreading over his features. After a minute, Damen opens his eyes and asks, "What's in this water, anyway?"

"Naturally occurring minerals," says Laurent. "They're said to have health benefits."

"'Keep the skin young,'" Damen says. "Or that's what Vannes said to me yesterday."

Laurent laughs.

"She patted my cheek." His voice is almost plaintive.

Laurent laughs harder; he can picture this.

"It won't do anything to these?" Damen reaches for Laurent's hand, under the water. He means their wrists, the cuffs.

"I think it's bad for silver, but gold should be fine." 

Neither of them move their hands. Laurent looks up at the sky, clear and blue above them. From here, it's as though the village doesn't exist. As though nowhere else exists at all. The surrounding trees are a mix of evergreens and deciduous trees still gaining back their leaves, though here and there he can see a promise of flowers in coming weeks. The mineral smell has faded in his awareness; the air feels fresh, invigorating. He dips a little lower in the water and the heat cuts into this new skin, digs deep into his muscles.

"This could be nice in winter," Damen says.

"They keep the walkway cleared, but the snow comes nearly to the edge of the baths. You could freeze."

This past winter was spent almost entirely in the south. Next winter, he may see Damen's first snowfall.

"It's nice at night, too, especially in summer. It's all more lively in summer, greener. Though the heat is somewhat less appealing. But at night it's cooler, and they set lanterns out along the sides here, and on a clear night you can see the stars."

"You used to come here a lot."

"My mother loved it," Laurent says. "These are more popular in Kempt, you know. Some of the spas there have a half dozen types of water at all sorts of temperatures and in all kinds of arrangements. And when she was sick, she always said the water here made her feel better. It did seem to. Until I was about seven I would come in with her, but when I got older I went to the men's side with my brother. Once my mother grew sicker, though, we stopped coming."

"You never came alone?"

"I didn't have that kind of freedom." He knows how it sounds, but he means in himself, to come to a place he shared with family to sit alone, and change what that place means. He thinks perhaps Damen understands. 

"If we're up here in the winter," Damen says, meaning near Arles, "we'll have to come here and soak a while, or I really will freeze."

"You'd think," Laurent says, "at least a portion of that mass would function as insulation."

Damen splashes him. Because they're alone, Laurent splashes back.

"Good for the skin," Laurent reminds him as Damen wipes the cloudy water off his face with the back of his hand.

"Come here," Damen says, as though he's going to retaliate, but he pulls Laurent in close to sit astride him. The air is very cool on the skin of his torso that had been underwater. They both lean in. Neither bridges the gap for a kiss.

"After," Laurent says.

"At the inn."

"After dinner."

"That wasn't part of the earlier schedule," Damen says. Their noses brush.

"It's not a schedule. But dinner after sex sounds," Laurent kisses Damen's nose, "unrealistic."

"Dinner in the room."

"We're having a multi-course meal," Laurent says. "All the regional specialties. In a private dining room. It's already been arranged."

Damen kisses his lips. "That sounds like a schedule."

But he leaves it at one kiss, only tracing an arc down Laurent's cheek with his fingers and then letting his hand fall to Laurent's back. They gaze at each other. Aware that they have time, today and always. Aware of what they want, but without the urgency that comes with uncertainty. 

"Come on," Laurent says, and stands up in the water. "I think that one there is supposed to be even hotter."

**Author's Note:**

> i hadn't written in a while, especially not anything quick and silly and unedited and posted the very same day, so this was super fun! this village would be near the border with kempt, and since we know absolutely nothing about kempt or the culture i figured there's room to take it in this direction.
> 
> talk to me about captive prince on [tumblr](http://doumekichikara.tumblr.com) / [twitter](http://twitter.com/dxmianos)


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